


Rajoyitas

by TheFreakZone



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2018-12-26 14:31:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12060921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFreakZone/pseuds/TheFreakZone
Summary: Collection of one-shots based on the most hilarious, unbelivably stupid lines said by Spain's President.





	1. Difficult

**Author's Note:**

> "Rajoyita": colloquial Spanish term referring to a phrase said by Mariano Rajoy (Spain's current President) that makes no gramatical sense, is stupid, sounds funny, or all of the above. It's a blend of "Rajoy" and "joyita" ("little jewel").
> 
> That being said, there's not much else to explain. The one-shots aren't related between them (so far) and vary between starring Spain (country) or Antonio (human in an AU). Also, I'll quote the "rajoyita" that inspired each chapter at the very beginning, first in Spanish and then a translation in English.
> 
> Hope you like it! ;)
> 
> PS. Original version in Spanish in Fanfiction.net!

**Difficult**

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

_«It’s very difficult todo esto.»_

_“Es muy difícil all this.”_

_Mariano Rajoy Brey; September 24th, 2015_

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

“Everything is Portugal’s fault,” Spain complained. “How dare he give me five points?”

“He’s a good brother,” France laughed. “Come on, man, it could be worse. At least you didn’t get any points from the jury!”

“But I got five from the televote,” he muttered.

Hurt, Spain gazed at the screen, where the results of the Eurovision Song Contest 2017 were displayed. Portugal had won, and he had come in last. Let’s not be mistaken: he had known he was going to be last from the very beginning; he had _wished_ to be last. But he had also wanted to lose epically, with _nul points_. Both France and Prussia had told him that was hard to accomplish.

“You only say that because you haven’t listened to my song,” Spain had retorted, confident.

And, of course, they had ended up making a bet: would Spain make it to the last place with no points?

The answer turned out to be _no_ , thanks to the Portuguese audience, who gave him five points. So Spain not only hadn’t accomplished his goal, but now he had to pay.

France and Prussia were going to enjoy it.

~{x}~

Weeks later, one of their many meetings took place. The three of them walked together into the meeting room, France and Prussia smiling and nudging each other, and Spain with a contrite expression.

“England is going to kill me,” he sighed. “If he already hates me, I don’t want to imagine how it’ll be after today.”

“That’s the plan, Toni. We want to find out how long it’ll take him to react,” Prussia replied, grinning widely. “Don’t deny it, you’re curious, too.”

Spain didn’t answer, too busy trying to remember what he was going to say in his turn.

When the meeting finally started, many noticed that Spain was much calmer than usual. Romano asked him a few times if he was alright, to which Spain answered with a quiet “yes” and a lazy nod.

“What’s the matter with him?” England asked France, who was sat by his side.

“Why do you ask me?”

“Because you must be involved, one way or another. What have you planned?”

“Me? Nothing,” France blinked, feigning innocence. “Oh! Attention, _Angleterre_ , it’s Spain’s turn to speak!”

Indeed, the southern country stood up, cleared his throat, and looked at his notes.

“ _Jelou_ ,” he said in English with a terrible accent. “ _Ai am Espein, and aim goin tu tel yu abaut mai economy_.”

France barely managed to hold back his laughter when he saw England’s eyes opening wide and his face twisting into an expression of pure terror.

“What’s he doing to my beautiful language?” he mumbled, to himself rather than to France.

“ _Mai economy is no gud rait nau_ ,” Spain went on, not having missed England’s face. “ _I jav tu fait corrupsion and almost bankrrupcy; plis com visit in samer and liv mony, bicos turisim is seiving mai ass._ _Cenk yu very mucho_.”

That being said, he nonchalantly sat back on his chair. He felt everyone’s astounded gazes on him, save for France’s (who had buried his face on his arms to not laugh out loud) and Prussia’s (who was discretely recording England’s reaction).

“Um, Spain… What was that?” Germany asked, too surprised to be mad.

“ _Mai intervension, of cors_ ,” Spain answered in ‘English’, smiling. “ _Dats ol ai jad tu sey abaut mai economy. Its crap._ _Plis jelp._ ”

Germany opened and closed his mouth, wanting to say something but not knowing what. Confused, he looked around himself, as if he wanted to make sure that everyone else had witnessed the same.

“ _If dats not enof, ai can kip tolking_ ,” Spain offered. “ _Ai can tolk to yu abaut meny cings_.”

“DON’T YOU DARE!” England suddenly yelled, jumping to his feet. “Stop speaking in… in… that mutilation you call English!”

“ _Uat du yu min? Mai inglish is perfect!_ ”

“Shut uuuuuuuuup!”

Furious, England jumped over the table and launched himself over Spain; he, who had seen it coming, dodged him and ran away as if the Devil was behind him… which wasn’t too far from reality.

The other nations stared in awe as Spain fled, dropping behind him chairs and anything he could to try and block England.

When they went out of the room and into the corridor, all that could be heard in the room were France and Prussia’s loud laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of Spain's lines in """English""":
> 
> «Jelou. Ai am Espein, and aim goin tu tel yu abaut mai economy.» = "Hello. I'm Spain and I'm going to tell you about my economy."
> 
> «Mai economy is no gud rait nau. I jav tu fait corrupsion and almost bankrrupcy; plis com visit in samer and liv mony, bicos turisim is seiving mai ass. Cenk yu very mucho.» = "My economy is not good right now. I have to fight corruption and almost bankrrupcy; please come visit in summer and leave money, because turism is saving my ass. Thank you very much."
> 
> «Mai intervension, of cors. Dats ol ai jad tu sey abaut mai economy. Its crap. Plis jelp.» = "My intervention, of course. That's all I had to say about my economy, It's crap. Please help."
> 
> «If dats not enof, ai can kip tolking. Ai can tolk to yu abaut meny cings.» = "If that's no enough, I can keep talking. I can talk to you about many things."
> 
> «Uat du yu min? Mai inglish is perfect!» = "What do you mean? My English is perfect!"


	2. Together

** Together **

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

_«Siempre estaré detrás de ti, o delante, o a un lado.»_

_“I’ll always be behind you, or in front of you, or beside you.”_

_Mariano Rajoy Brey to Francisco Camps; June 2nd, 2009_

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

**Kingdom of Naples, 1442**

Spain sighed heavily as he left his weapons on the table and got rid of the heavy armour. It hadn’t been a war especially long or tiring, but he was starting to be very annoyed by his beloved northern neighbour. To think they had been god friends when they had lived together with the Roman Empire… Lately, they’d fight over everything.

_Stop overthinking_ , he told himself. _You’ve won the war; now you have new territories._

He was very aware of what a war could do to a nation when it was fought in its territory, so he had decided to give the little kingdom some time to recover before visiting him. However, curiosity had been stronger, and in the end he had gone straight to Naples, only stopping in his room to change to more comfortable clothes, eager to see his new protégé.

“Romano?” he called, softly knocking on his door. “Are you there? Can I come in?”

He thought he heard a muttered reply, but he didn’t understand anything. He decided to take it as a ‘come in’; he was the boss, anyway, he didn’t even have to ask for permission in the first place. Without hesitation, he opened the door and walked in.

“I told you to go away!” Romano yelled the moment he saw him, running to his bed and hiding under the covers.

Spain smiled and ignored him. Instead, he walked to the bed and sat beside the bundle that had become the young kingdom’s refuge.

“Calm down, Romano,” he said softly. “The war is over; nobody is going to hurt you anymore,” he promised. Carefully, he started to remove the covers, slowly uncovering the child. He didn’t want to be rough — the little one had been through enough. “I’ll protect you from now on.”

“Liar,” Romano frowned. His face resurfaced and he glared daggers at Spain. “You’ll get tired of me and leave me to be taken by France or Austria.”

“Never!” Spain exclaimed. Not giving him the chance to run away, he grabbed him and hugged him tightly. “I’ve put a lot of effort on getting you, you know? I won’t let you go that easily.”

Romano growled something, but didn’t protest or fight against the hug. Still, Spain knew he didn’t believe his words, so he’d have to prove them with acts. Smiling, he pressed a tender kiss to the kid’s hair.

“I’ll always be with you, Romano. I promise.”

~{x}~

**Spain, 1714**

“I said NO!” No, no, no and no!” Romano yelled over and over. “I don’t want to go!”

Spain sighed and knelt by his side.

“I don’t want you to go either,” he confessed, “but I have little say in this.”

Romano ignored him and continued his tantrum, screaming obscenities and throwing to the floor every unfortunate object that happened to be within reach.

_Good luck, Austria_ , Spain thought as he watched the scene. Truth be told, he doubted his former ally would be able to cope with Romano’s temper for too long. Although he probably wasn’t going to bother too much.

When it finally seemed that Romano had calmed down, Spain moved closer, slowly, and picked him up. The kid buried his face on his shoulder, vainly trying to hide his tears.

“I don’t want to go,” he repeated, though much weaker than before.

“I didn’t want for any of this to happen either,” Spain replied, tenderly rocking him. “But there’s nothing we can do about it,” he sighed as he stroked his hair, desperately trying to think of a way to cheer him up. “Austria will pick you up tomorrow,” he said after a while. “Do you want to go outside and watch the stars with me?”

“Okay,” Romano agreed, low. It was as if he had lost all his energy.

Seeing him like that broke Spain’s heart.

Once they were outside, in the palace’s gardens, they snuggled close to each other and covered themselves with a few blankets, then staring at the starry sky in complete silence.

“Romano,” Spain muttered after a long while, “I promise I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back.”

“You’d better, bastard.”

Spain laughed quietly at the appellative (Romano had long ago stopped meaning it, and he knew it) and kissed the child’s head.

“In the meantime, behave,” he warned. Then, however, he reconsidered and changed his mind. “In fact, don’t. Be a total little devil.”

Confused, Romano turned to look at him, frowning. Spain smiled, amused, and tickled his side.

“Make Austria regret having separated us,” he winked, cheekily.

Romano laughed, half because of the tickles and half because of Spain’s words.

“Oh, he _will_ regret it!” he claimed. “I won’t let him rest!”

“What if France shows up?” Spain asked, laughing as well.

“I kick his shin,” Romano answered without thinking it twice.

“And if you see England?”

“I hide and throw pebbles at him.”

“That’s my boy!”

~{x}~

**Belgium, 1986**

Spain was practically prancing out of sheer joy, followed by France and England’s gazes, amused the former and bored the latter.

“Does he really have to be _that_ happy?” England inquired.

“Yes,” France answered vehemently. “You know all he’s been through in the last few decades. He’s been trying to join the EU for a long time now; let him enjoy it, now that he’s made it!”

“I still think he’s overreacting.”

Unaware of those two and their argument, Spain walked down the corridor, emanating happiness. He was finally a full member of the European Union! He met a few countries, and they congratulated him; Belgium had been particularly sweet, and the Netherlands hadn’t been as surly as he usually behaved towards him. Yet he still hadn’t met the one he wanted…

Luck seemed to be on his side once again, for he spotted Veneziano and Romano when he turned the next corner.

“Lovi!” he called, happy, and almost jumped on him.

“Hi, bastard,” Romano greeted him, while at the same time sending a warning look: _Don’t you dare cross a line in front of my brother_.

“Hello, Spain!” Italy smiled. “Are you in the EU?”

“Yes! That’s exactly what I wanted to tell you. Lovi, come with me? We have to celebrate.”

Before Romano could reply, Veneziano giggled and walked away, muttering something about third-wheeling. His brother glared at him as he left, but soon his attention was claimed by other things.

Those other things were Spain’s lips, which attacked his own the moment Italy disappeared behind the corner. Taken by surprise, Romano closed his eyes and let himself be carried away… until he remembered where they were.

“Let go, bastard!” he protested, pushing him away. “What have I told you about doing this in public places?”

“But Lovi…” Spain whined, his cheerful expression morphing into his well-known kicked-puppy face. “I’m very happy, and I wanted to celebrate with you…”

Romano sighed and rolled his eyes. Really, he didn’t know how Spain managed to always get what he wanted. Slightly regretful for having been so mean, he pecked his lips as an apology, though he made it quick, not wanting to give him ideas.

“Come on,” he said, taking Spain’s hand and guiding them outside the building. “Have you thought of anything?”

“We could go out for dinner, or to the movies…” Spain answered, thoughtful. “Or straight to my hotel,” he added with a cheeky wink.

That earned him a punch on his shoulder and a tirade of Italian curses, but it was worth it.

They went straight to the hotel.


	3. Much

**Much**

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

  _«España es una gran nación y los españoles muy españoles y mucho españoles.»_

_“Spain is a great nation, and Spaniards are very Spanish and much Spanish.”_

_Mariano Rajoy Brey; May 21st, 2015_

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

It had all been idea of the international office attendant, Roma Vargas, who, after realizing just how many foreign students were at their university, had decided to offer them the chance to make presentations about their countries to the other students. Many had agreed, and Francis, Antonio and Gilbert were no exception.

“I don’t know what I could possibly say about France that isn’t already known,” Francis sighed. “Everyone knows our language is the most beautiful—”

“Please, you say ‘four twenties and nineteen’ instead of ‘ninety-nine’,” scoffed Antonio.

“—and that our women are the prettiest—”

“A proper German woman outshines any other lady,” intervened Gilbert.

“—and that our wine is the best—”

“A good _Rioja_ is better that any French wine.”

“And even the worst German beer is better than wine.”

“That’s going too far, Gil. _¡Viva el vino!_ ” Antonio laughed.

Completely ignoring his friends’ comments, Francis continued enumerating his motherland’s many virtues:

“—and that the Eiffel Tower is one of the best monuments in the world—”

“Yeah, but in Madrid we have a statue to the Devil; get over that.”

“—and that our people are the nicest—”

“Tell me what you swank about and I’ll tell you what you lack,” hummed Gilbert.

“—and that—”

“Goddammit, Francis!” Arthur yelled from the other end of the room. “Do everyone a favour and shut up!”

~{x}~

It was finally the day of the presentations. The assembly hall was full of students that wanted to learn about other countries, or simply laugh at their buddies.

“I can’t believe him,” Francis snorted when Arthur finished his presentation with a ‘ _God save the Queen!’_. “Can he be more snob?”

“No, he can’t,” Gilbert answered. “We already had this argument months ago.”

Someone shushed them from a few rows behind them, and they reluctantly shut up (only after having graciously given the middle finger to whomever had dared to shush them).

“Thank you very much, Arthur Kirkland, for your presentation about England,” Roma Vargas said from the stage. “Up next is… Antonio Fernández Carriedo, about Spain. A round of applause for him!”

Antonio walked confident into the stage, smiling even wider than usual, and bowed exaggeratedly to the audience.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted. “I’m Antonio, and I’m going to tell you about my wonderful country, Spain!” As he shouted the last word, he pointed to the projector with the remote. The audience burst out laughing when nothing happened, and Antonio blushed when he realized he was holding the remote upside-down. “Okay, okay, everything’s under control,” he joked, turning it around and pressing a button. The projector turned on and a PowerPont appeared behind him. “Well, as I said, I’m going to tell you about Spain.

“I’ll sum up its history, which is quite interesting.”

As he spoke, he passed the slides, which had lots of pictures and few words.

“First, in the Iberian Peninsula there were Iberians and Celtics. Then came the Romans and called it Hispania. Then came the Visigoths, and then the Muslims.

“They conquered almost the entire Peninsula, but some Christians resisted up in the North. And well, it took them around seven centuries to reconquer what the Muslims had conquered in barely fifteen years; shit happens.

“Then came this dude you all probably know already, Columbus, who said: _Hey, what if Earth is round?_ To which the Catholic Monarchs, who were the Power Couple of the moment (kinda like _Brangelina_ ), replied: _Lol go check_. And there he went with three ships and accidentally found America. Typical travel problems: you can get a flat-tire, or a whole continent in your path.”

Antonio paused for a moment to drink some water. The audience was laughing a lot with his presentation, and that only fuelled him more.

“And here begins the Spanish Empire. Columbus came back form America saying: _There’s gold_ , and everyone went there like freakin’ vultures. The greatest _hits_ of this period are the Inquisition, which is never expected; the Invincible Armada, which was so invincible that it sank; _Don Quixote_ , which is so cool until you’re forced to read it in school; and the greatest poetry battle ever between Góngora and Quevedo.

“The kings of this period were rather fond of endogamy. In fact, when his fourth wife passed away, Philip II didn’t remarry because he had run out of women closely related to him. So we reach Charles II, who had everything but a decent genome. At least he had the decency of dying in 1700 and making it easier for us to remember dates.

“And after this came the Succession War, and suddenly France, which was an enemy, became an ally; and Austria, which was an ally, became an enemy; and England… as usual, was there being a bother. When this war ended, they stole from us a rock they won’t return.”

He passed to the next slide and showed a picture of said rock accompanied by a huge text in red and yellow letters: _GIBRALTAR ESPAÑOL_. Very few noticed it, but Antonio clearly saw Arthur cursing him under his breath. He smiled charmingly at him before going on.

“During this century there’s little worthy of being mentioned; then comes the nineteenth century, when Napoleon invaded us. We invented the guerrilla war and proved we’re incredibly stupid, because Ferdinand VII was so incompetent…

“And then everything gets so complicated: there’s the independence of the colonies, and Isabel II, a few civil wars here and there, a still unsolved assassination, five different Constitutions, a failed Republic… Let’s just say we were completely ungovernable. Like nowadays, but without Germany and the European Union there to tell us what to do.

“Then, in 1898, the Americans took from us Cuba, Puerto Rico, the Philippines and Guam, and we had nothing left. Then came World War One, and we, because we can be cunning bastards when we want to, sold weapons to everyone and anyone and ended the war swimming in money… but we suck at money management, so we were broke soon after.

“Then came the Second Republic and the Civil War, and then the dictatorship of a short guy with a high-pitched voice and a very ill temper. No, I’m not talking about a chihuahua. His name was Franco, and there he stood until he kicked the bucket in 1975; then came the Transition to a democracy, and now… well, we’re in a deep crisis, our President can’t speak properly, and we’re internationally known because of _Macarena_ , siestas and paella.”

He changed the slide and a huge “FIN” appeared, with the Spanish flag in the background. The audience remained silent for a second, and then everyone started to clap and cheer.

“Thanks, thanks,” Antonio waved, feigning modesty. “If you liked it, go to Spain on vacations, please. What would our poor economy do without tourism?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "¡Viva el vino!" ("Long live the wine!") is another famous quote by Rajoy. Not fun enough to create a whole chapter based on it, but enough well-known to deserve a cameo.


	4. Movement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is my favourite so far. Be prepared to read the most accurate depiction of a Spaniard EVER.

**Movement**

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

_«A veces moverse es bueno, otras veces no; a veces es mejor estarse quieto y en otras es mejor que no; y en ocasiones es mejor estar en movimiento.»_

_“Sometimes moving is good, sometimes it isn’t; sometimes it’s better to remain still and sometimes it’s better not to; and sometimes it’s better to be moving.”_

_Mariano Rajoy Brey; February 18th, 2014_

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

**June 24th, 2016 – 8.30 AM**

“Antonio! I’m leaving for work!” Roderich yelled from the hall.

Antonio groaned and squirmed under the covers. It was way too early to be shouting, and his boyfriend wasn’t showing any mercy. Then again, he may deserve it, after having been a whole day rubbing in his face the fact that he had more holidays due to his job as a teacher.

“Antonio! Did you hear me?” the Austrian insisted. When he didn’t get an answer, he rushed back to the bedroom and shook the Spaniard to fully awaken him. “I’m leaving for work,” he repeated. “Since you’re already on holidays, clean up the house, okay?”

“Ooookaaaaaay,” Antonio sighed, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“I’ll be back at six. I hope the house looks decent by then,” Roderich warned. It almost sounded like a threat. “Well, I’m leaving, or I’ll be late. Have a good day.” He gave him a quick peck before taking his stuff and leaving. As he walked to the office, one lone thought kept reappearing in his mind:

_He’s capable of not only not tidying up, but also of leaving the house worse than it already is_.

~{x}~

**June 24th, 2016 – 11.47 AM**

Antonio yawned and changed position. He stretched, yawned, laid on his side. Lazily, he glanced at the alarm-clock on the night-stand. Roderich had left almost two and a half hours ago — maybe it was about time he got up and started with the cleaning.

However, Antonio was a Spaniard from Spain, very Spanish and, according to some, much Spanish, and as such the idea of getting up before noon without being obliged to by his job seemed an absolute crime.

_I’m sorry, Rod_ , he managed to think before nodding off again.

~{x}~

**June 24th, 2016 – 12.33 AM**

His phone ringing pulled him out of his dreams. It took him a moment to remember what was going on, and a little longer to realize that what sounded was the personalized ringtone he had set for Roderich. (How Chopin had managed to awaken him, he’d wonder for months.)

“ _Hola, cariño_ ,” he picked up, trying to fight back a yawn. “How’s work?”

“ _Same old. How’s the cleaning?_ ”

“Uuuh…”

“ _You didn’t just wake up, right?_ ”

“Uuuh... no?”

He heard a heavy sigh, and Antonio drew a small, guilty smile. He knew Roderich was imagining it even if he couldn’t see it, just as he intuited his boyfriend’s frustrated expression.

“Don’t say anything, I’ll start right away,” he said, quickly before he got scolded. “Have a nice day; see you later!”

He hung up, not giving him the chance to say anything else, and reluctantly dragged himself out of bed.

~{x}~

**June 24th, 2016 – 1.02 PM**

Antonio hummed the song that played on the radio as he put his breakfast’s plates in the dishwasher. Okay, he had told Roderich he’d start cleaning right away, but breakfast was sacred and he would never skip it… even if it was almost lunch time.

“Well…” he sighed as he stretched, trying to get rid of the last remains of sleep. “I’ll have to start cleaning.”

Not knowing where to begin, he started to pace around the flat (which wasn’t too big, for starters): from the kitchen to the living-room, from the living-room to the bathroom, from the bathroom to the bedroom, and then back to the kitchen. He couldn’t tell which room was the messiest, thus he couldn’t decide which to leave for last.

_Maybe I could start tidying up the living room. It’s a bit too messy_.

Resolute, he went straight to a stack of old magazines and newspapers. They always kept them because of an interesting article or the pastimes, but they rarely bothered looking through them again, and they took up a lot of space.

“Let’s see… Trash, trash, trash, trash…”

As he spoke, he picked up a magazine and dropped it in a huge plastic bag. He was so proud of himself: okay, it had taken him four and a half hours to start, but he was being productive now!

_Rod will be so pleased when he comes back_ , he thought, happy.

~{x}~

**June 24th, 2016 – 2.53 PM**

Maybe the last hour and a half had been everything but productive. Maybe Antonio had completely forgotten what he was doing when his old copy of _The Lion King_ had appeared between the newspapers. Maybe he had made himself some popcorn and had watched the movie.

Maybe.

And now, after having cried over Mufasa and having sung _Hakuna Matata_ , he realized it was almost three o’clock and he hadn’t cleaned anything. Roderich would be back in barely three hours… and he was going to kill him.

For a few minutes, Antonio got worried. He didn’t want to madden Roderich. Anyone else would have started to clean right then, but he, as we’ve stated before, was Spanish. And as a proper Spaniard, a free day at three in the afternoon meant siesta.

All thoughts about the cleaning forgotten, he laid on the couch and closed his eyes.

~{x}~

**June 24th, 2016 – 3.28 PM**

For the second time, it was Chopin what woke him up. Drowsy, Antonio squirmed with a groan and picked up.

“Yes?”

“ _Antonio?_ ” Roderich’s voice reached him. “ _Were you sleeping again?_ ”

“… no?”

He heard an exasperated sigh and felt a bit guilty… all he could, with his brain still half-asleep.

“ _I was calling to let you know I’m on my way home. Today was a very productive day and I could leave early_.”

That slapped Antonio to a full-awake state. He jumped to his feet, almost dropping his phone, but then sat again because he felt dizzy.

“That’s great, no?” he chuckled, nervous.

“ _Yes. I hope you’ve cleaned at least one room by the time I’m back_ ,” Roderich casually said before hanging up.

Antonio made a face as he slowly moved the phone away from his ear. That was it. His relationship was over, if not his life.

Although, thinking about it, half an hour was enough time to somewhat tidy a room. It didn’t have to _be_ clean — it just had to _look_ clean. He stood up and paced around the flat, trying to decide in which room it’d be easier to hide the mess.

~{x}~

**June 24th, 2016 – 4.03 PM**

The moment he heard the keys rattling behind the door, Antonio knew there was no going back. Resigned, he smiled his most charming smile and waited in the hall for Roderich to come in.

After having been pacing around for ten minutes, unable to decide a room, he had ended up sitting on the couch and thinking excuses. There had been an emergency, the neighbour had asked him to help him assemble some IKEA furniture, a rabid raccoon had sneaked in and he had had to fight it off…

He knew Roderich wasn’t going to buy any of those.

“Hi, darling!” he greeted him happily when the door opened.

Roderich didn’t answer. He just let his gaze wander around the living-room and peek at the kitchen.

“I don’t want to see the rest of the house, do I?” he stated more than asked.

Antonio’s smile wavered, and Roderich sighed. He left his stuff on a corner of the hall, went to the living-room and dropped himself on the couch. Feeling guiltier with every passing second, Antonio walked behind him and sat by his side.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

Roderich didn’t answer. He had taken one of the many magazines Antonio had tried to get rid of before (and that, evidently, were still there inside a bag) and pretended to read it, indifferent.

“Rod,” Antonio insisted. “Hey, Rod, I’m really sorry,” he repeated, moving closer to him. “It’s just that… it’s my first day off. I wanted to rest.”

“You always want to rest,” Roderich replied, not bothering to look at him.

“That’s a bad thing?” he asked, encouraged by finally getting a reply.

“Sometimes.”

Deciding to put aside the argument about his laziness (because he’d lose it, basically), Antonio pressed closer to Roderich, intertwining their arms and nearing his face until his lips practically touched his boyfriend’s ear.

“Let me make it up to you,” he whispered.

Roderich turned to look at him with a frown, clearly annoyed. Antonio simply smiled.

“You can’t magically fix everything with sex, you know.”

“I can’t?”

Not giving him a chance to reply, Antonio closed the distance between them and kissed him. Although Roderich stubbornly closed his lips and refused to kiss back, Antonio could be even more dogged. Drawing a naughty smile, he tangled a hand on his hair, stroked his neck and fully pressed against him. Nothing else was needed: suddenly, Roderich’s hands took his face and his tongue met another.

When they split apart, Roderich looked at him with a curious blend of annoyance and lust.

“Don’t think you’re going to get away with this.”

“No?” Antonio sighed dramatically and pulled away. “I’ll have to have fun on my own, then,” he mused as he stood up. Before leaving the room, he turned and winked at Roderich. “If you suddenly feel like accompanying me, you know where to find me.”

That being said, he calmly made his way to the bed room. He had barely reached the door when he clearly heard how Roderich stood up and rushed behind him. Satisfied, he walked inside and waited for his boyfriend.

~{x}~

**June 24th, 2016 – 4.56 PM**

“You’re the best boyfriend in the whole wide world,” Antonio sighed, hugging him.

Roderich rolled his eyes and stroked his hair, not feeling like pushing him away. Antonio kissed his chest and snuggled as close as possible.

“I’ll have you know I’m still mad,” the Austrian said, though he had almost forgotten about the cleaning.

Antonio looked intently at him, and smiled and kissed him before whispering, mischievous:

“Are you asking for a second round?”


	5. Selling

**Selling**

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

_«Exportar es positivo porque vendes lo que produces.»_

_“Exporting is positive because you sell what you produce.”_

_Mariano Rajoy Brey; October 7th, 2015_

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

None of them knew for sure how everything had started. Perhaps it had been France, Spain and Prussia in one of their drunken bets (they were still a bit tipsy); or maybe England had somehow offended them. Perhaps it had been Italy and Romano’s idea, encouraged by Germany’s presence (the one wanted to play with him; the other just wanted to humiliate him).

Anyway, the seven of them had somehow ended up sat around the board of _Monopoly_ , ready to throw everyone else into bankruptcy.

“Is it really necessary for me to be here?” Switzerland sighed as he distributed the money.

“We needed someone to be the bank,” answered England, calmly, “and there’s no one better suited for that than you. We know you’ll remain neutral, and that you’re good with money… Spain knows that very well,” he added with a chuckle.

“Shut up, stupid _guiri_ ,” grunted the Spaniard, clearly still under the effects of the alcohol. “And give back Gibraltar.”

“Keep dreaming. Ah! I’ll take the top hat!” he exclaimed, quickly grabbing the token.

“I’ll be the dog,” said Germany sternly.

“Honouring our country’s shape, we’ll be the boot,” announced Romano, taking it and handing it to his brother. “It also means that we’re going to kick your asses!”

“We’ll see that,” Prussia said, mockingly, as he took the car. “Here’s German engineering to fight back!”

“You’re all so tasteless,” France sighed as he reached for the tokens. “I’m the iron, because I’m the only one here with a decent fashion sense.”

Offended, the Italians started to yell at him. As Germany and Prussia tried to separate the three of them and England stared with a bored expression, Spain’s gaze wandered over the remaining tokens.

A thimble. Thimbles are used for sewing. That would lead to another argument about fashion.

A wheelbarrow. That meant work, and hard. Spain and hard Works weren’t compatible terms.

That only left him one option.

“I’m the battleship,” he said as he grabbed it.

“Really?” snickered England. “And what would that symbolize? Your Invincible Armada? I hope you finish the game better than it did.”

“It was called _Gran y Felicísima Armada_ , asshole,” Spain replied. “And not, it doesn’t represent it.”

“The _Santísima Trinidad_ , then?” he kept mocking him. “That was one beautiful ship… A shame it sunk in Trafalgar, don’t you think?”

Spain glared daggers at him. England’s smirk grew wider as he kept digging the wound.

“Ah, wait. Maybe it’s that silly little fleet of your that was in Cuba in 1898? You know which one — the one Alfred reduced to junk.”

Before Spain could reply (or attack his jugular, which is what he seemed to want to do), Romano and Italy hugged him on both sides and easily distracted him, while France and Germany scolded an indifferent England.

“Can we start?” Switzerland asked, annoyed. “Otherwise, I’m leaving and you find yourselves another tax haven to play the bank.”

Everyone was quick to set their tokens on the GO space and started to throw the dice to decide who’d be the first to go. If Switzerland left, the closest tax haven they had was Gibraltar, and they knew England wouldn’t allow it.

“Hah! Obviously, I’m the first one,” exclaimed Prussia when fate decided the order. “Get ready to surrender to my awesomeness.”

And so started one of the most intense _Monopoly_ games they had ever played.

Soon, a French-Spanish-Italian commercial alliance was formed. The Anglo-Germanic countries didn’t manage to fight it, and because of a streak of bad luck, Germany ended up declaring bankruptcy. (Romano celebrated it as if he had won the game.) In a last financial act, he left all he owned to Prussia.

“Avenge me,” he said before standing up and leaving with whatever dignity he had left. (To Romano’s despair, Italy went straight after him.)

Thanks to his “inheritance”, Prussia rose as the most powerful player, closely followed by England. The third one, to everyone’s surprise, was Spain, who was being very lucky with the dices and cards.

The cards, precisely, were responsible for the second bankruptcy: it was Romano, in a streak of bad luck, the one who ended up broke (and on the brink of flipping the board). Despite being allied to both France and Spain, he left everything to the latter, because he disliked the former.

“Just my luck, ending up alone with the three of you,” England sighed.

“Don’t worry, _cheri_ , you’ll soon be broke and out of here,” smiled France, smug.

“We’ll see.”

As if a mysterious force (let’s call it Karma) wanted to disagree with France, it was precisely him who suddenly found himself in red numbers. It was mostly because of Spain and Prussia, who despite being _BFFs forever_ , wouldn’t make him discounts when he landed on their properties with houses and hotels. Mad, France sat next to Romano in what would be called the “Sulky Corner”.

There were only three people left in the game: a Prussian with delusions of grandeur, and an Englishman and a Spaniard who wanted nothing more than tear each other apart.

There would be no mercy.

Even Switzerland seem interested when the dices rolled, the money moved from hand to hand, and houses and hotels were built. It was tense. Before rolling the dices, everyone prayed to get a certain number to avoid the others’ properties.

For a long while, it didn’t look like anyone managed to get a significant advantage over the others. Maybe Prussia was a bit ahead, since he owned the most expensive streets, and with hotels! However, luck seemed to abandon him, and he started to fall over and over on England’s properties; and, when he didn’t, he was sent to jail one way or another. That way, he began to lose his fortune until, when he couldn’t stand it anymore, he declared bankruptcy, even though he could have played for a little longer. Due to his resentment towards England, he left everything to Spain before retiring to the Sulky Corner.

“Well, here we are,” England smirked as he fixed some of his houses. “Ready to lose?”

Not bothering to reply, Spain took the dices and handed them to him. England smiled, smug, and threw them. Twelve. He was going to start bragging when he realized where that took him: not just one of Spain’s properties, but one of the public services. Since Spain owned the two, that meant he had to pay five hundred times the value of the dices.

“I’m always ready to lose,” smiled Spain as he reached to take his money, “and I’ve learnt to do it rather nicely. Can you?”

England frowned and didn’t reply. He took the dices (because the other toss had been a doublé, he had to move again) and threw them: two threes.

“Be careful: another double and you’ll go to jail.”

“And why would you care?”

“If you’re in jail, who will fall in my properties?” Spain replied, winking at him, as he picked the top hat and moved it six squares. “Wow, look at this coincidence!”

Indeed, England had fallen in another of Spain’s properties: one of the expensive ones, and with a couple of hotels. Muttering something under his breath, he paid what he had to and got ready to roll the dices again.

“Here comes the third double!” Spain teased once he did.

“Ha!” England exclaimed when the dices stopped and displayed a three and a two. “Not a double.”

“No, indeed. Then move.”

England picked his token, moved it five squares… and paled when he realized where that took him.

The last street.

The most expensive.

With three hotels.

Owned by Spain.

“I don’t think you can pay with what you have left,” Switzerland said, expertly studying England’s money. “You’ll have to declare bankruptcy.”

For a few seconds, nobosy moved or spoke. Even those in the Sulky Corner had stopped muttering and watched in a respectful silence. Finally, it was Spain who spoke:

“ _Galicia, Dragón, Conquistador, San Carlos, San Felipe_ and _África_ ,” he said calmly as he picked the battleship and wiggled it in front of England. “Those are the ships this token represents.”

Nothing else to add, he stood up (sliding the battleship in his pocket), grabbed Romano’s hand, who didn’t even try to pretend to fight it, and left the room, leaving behind a defeated (and possibly traumatized) England.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've reached all the chapters I have written in Spanish, so expect the next one, uh... in a long time (even longer than what it took me to translate this one — and no, I don't have an excuse for that). Although that's not entirely true: there is one more chapter in Spanish, but I won't translate that one because it's basically a compilation of Spanish inside jokes, and if I were to translate it, the notes and explanations would be longer than the chapter itself. I am leaving the Rajoyita here, though, because it's just wonderful:  
> "The worse, the better for everyone, and the worse for everyone, the better; better for me, yours, political benefit." (M. Rajoy, June 13th 2017)  
> No, it doesn't make any sense, don't bother trying to find it.


	6. Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Rajoy just got kicked out, we have a new President now. I won't miss him, but I sure as heck will miss his fantastic one-liners. I still have a lot to keep writing scenes for this series, though, so you lot will still get to see a lot of him. ;)

**Time**

_«Y termino deseándole a todos ustedes lo mejor para el próximo año 2016.»_

_“And I finish by wishing the best for you all in the next year 2016.”_

_Mariano Rajoy Brey; December 30th, **2017**_

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

_Knock knock knock._

“Antonio, don’t be mad,” begged Arthur to the door the Spaniard had slammed closed in his face. “You’re overreacting.”

A growl that seemed to mean “leave me alone” was heard from the other side. Arthur ignored it because he knew that, if he left, he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. It was the first time he saw his boyfriend so upset; not even when he tried (and failed) to cook a traditional Spanish dish for him did he get so angry. (In those occasions, Antonio would take a hand to his own chest, as if his very soul was hurt by the aberration Arthur had made, but then ate it anyway. When he was asked why, his reply was “because I love you”, which never failed to make Arthur blush from head to toes.)

“Antonio, please,” he insisted. “I only said that—”

“You have no idea!” Antonio screamed from inside the bathroom, hitting the door with such strength that Arthur flinched.

“It’s just my bloody opinion.”

“NO FUCKING IDEA!”

“Can you at least open the door?”

“When you leave.”

“Leave? Do you want me to go home?”

“Or to hell, if you feel like it.”

“You are such a baby!” Arthur protested, getting angrier himself. He had never been particularly patient, and Antonio’s attitude was exasperating him.

“And you’re an ignorant!”

“Ignorant, me? When was the last time you opened a book?”

“Just yesterday, you asshole! And if you go on like this, the next thing I open will be Tinder!”

“Knowing you, it’ll be your legs for the first guy you see!”

“What the fuck are you insinuating?!”

The door swung open with violence and behind it emerged Antonio, his face contracted in an angered expression. His green eyes blazed with fury, his jaw was tense, his brow was so furrowed his eyebrows nearly touched.

“N-Nothing,” Arthur stuttered. Seeing his sweet boyfriend with such an enraged look had shocked him so much his own rage had vanished.

“Maybe I _will_ open my legs for the first guy I see!” yelled the Spaniard. “And you’d deserve it, you son of a bitch!”

“I’m sorry, darling, I—”

“Maybe the first guy I see happens to be Francis!”

Arthur gasped. That had hurt. Why precisely Francis, of all people? He knew Antonio had said that with the intention of hurting him, and fuck, he had achieved it.

“Toni…”

“Don’t ‘Toni’ me! You can shove your apologies up your ass!”

“But—”

“Fuck off! Imbecile! Get out of my fucking house!”

Defeated, Arthur hung his head and walked towards the exit. Clearly, the best thing to do was to leave Antonio to cool down on his own and try to save their relationship when he wasn’t being the target of his fury.

Before closing the door behind him, he could still hear a sincere “ _¡Que te folle un pez!_ ”. It couldn’t be denied that Spanish insults have a special charm.

~{x}~

Everything was fixed two days later, when Antonio showed up at his house with sadness in his eyes and an apology in his mouth. He admitted that maybe he had “overreacted” and swore a few times that the hadn’t “opened his legs to anyone, truly, not even Francis”. Arthur tried to play hard-to-get, but soon forgave Antonio — it was very difficult to play tough when the other looked at him with his kicked-puppy eyes.

Their relationship wouldn’t have many more problems now that the Englishman had learnt his lesson: never, ever, ever again say in front of Antonio that _Doctor Who_ is a much better show than _El Ministerio del Tiempo_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "El Ministerio del Tiempo" is a Spanish TV show that, like the British "Doctor Who", involves time travel. I highly recommend it if you like history. It's on Netflix. ;) Anyway, I've decided that Spain and England always end up fighting when these two shows come up in the conversation. (I love both of them~)
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading and, uh, I'll come back with a new one... Some day... Undefined...


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